


Come to My Aid

by Vercastriel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bonding, F/F, Female Friendship, Ficlet, Minor Injuries, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vercastriel/pseuds/Vercastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan tends to the Warden's wounds. Naturally, she's being a big baby about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come to My Aid

**Author's Note:**

> (Revynal is pronounced Reh-vin-ahl)

It hurt, because it had to. But that wasn’t going to stop her from complaining.  
“Oh stop it, you barely overgrown child.”   
Sten and Alistair (who were on night shift) came running, swords drawn, thinking their commander was under Darkspawn attack, as opposed to having a thorn removed from her foot. They walked back towards the campfire, relieved and disappointed in equal measure.  
The elf lay on Morrigan’s sleeping bag, her left foot resting on the mage’s lap. They had camped in a forest clearing, near the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds. It was late at night. The air was piercing cold, and an owl cried in the distance.   
She was bleeding profusely from several gashes which had, minutes previously, housed a multitude of black thorns. Morrigan muttered incantations as she waved her hand over the other woman’s foot, and the wounds knitted themselves back together.   
“I still do not see, for the life of me, why Wynne or your girlfriend couldn’t be doing this.”  
The Warden grinned up at Morrigan, her tattooed face a bizarre blend of roguish charm and exquisite agony.  
“Leliana is better at healing the wounds of my soul.” Morrigan retched at this. “And it’d feel weird to ask Wynne.”  
Morrigan threw her free hand up in exasperation.  
“And I suppose it isn’t “weird” at all to ask me!”  
At this, she reefed out another long, black thorn. The Warden let out a blood-curdling shriek.  
“Revynal!” yelled Morrigan, who, like a parent, only used the Warden’s name when she was angry with her. “I have seen you take three arrows to the chest without so much as a whimper. Why, then, do you turn into a mewling babe when I have to remove some plant life from your blasted foot?!”  
“My feet are sensitive.” This was all she bothered to say.  
Why does every other sentence that comes out of her mouth incense me? wondered Morrigan. And, more to the point, if this is the case, why am I still following the damn woman?  
And then, the Warden stared into the witch’s eyes, and reminded her.  
“We both grew up in the forest, Morrigan. You know better than anyone else how to treat plant related injuries. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather do this for me.”  
For a second, Morrigan’s smart-alec retort did not come to her.  
“Given that this duty involves having to be in close proximity with your odorous foot, I shall take that as a dubious compliment.”  
Revynal laughed at this.  
They continued wordlessly for a few minutes, punctuated only by the occasional scream.  
“So.” said Morrigan portentously. “Do I want to know what you were doing when you put your foot in a thorn bush?”

They lay, intertwined, upon the forest floor. Feeling her commander’s hot breath on her soft neck, the Orlesian beauty slowly removed the elf’s undershirt, then traced the latticework of tattoos upon the other woman’s slender back.  
“Take me.”

Revynal blushed faintly.  
“Um... no, you probably don’t.”


End file.
